


Shelter In Place

by bearonthecouch



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Boredom, F/M, Gen, Someone Please Get Jean A Cigarette, Stuck In The Office, Team as Family, What To Do While You're Waiting, down time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 21:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18081158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearonthecouch/pseuds/bearonthecouch
Summary: Fuery knows about work that never ends. And sometimes, he stays late into the night to finish the repairs and maintenance required on the wide range of communications equipment East HQ needs to function. Not tonight, though. The team has decided to use this unexpected situation to relax together in a way they rarely do.





	Shelter In Place

“Go grab that deck of cards from Falman. He plays solitaire when he thinks nobody’s paying attention.” 

Breda twists around in his chair, so that he can raise an eyebrow at Jean, who is sitting on the floor with his back against the filing cabinet, clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth and looking agitated. 

But then, he hasn’t had a cigarette in three-and-a-half hours. Breda knows the only thing preventing him from lighting one right here and now, in defiance of the posted signs and smoke detectors, is his fear of Hawkeye’s reaction. But that fear might be overpowered by his nicotine addiction if they’re stuck here for very much longer. 

Falman is still working, making his way through a surprisingly large pile of reports and sorting them by priority, location, and date. He periodically glances up from his desk to make sure everyone is still safe, but otherwise has remained silent since the Shelter In Place order came through. He opens the top drawer of his desk, giving Breda easy access to the deck of cards surrounded by scattered pens and paper clips. 

Breda waits a few seconds before taking it, anticipating some sort of trap, or at least a comment. But no, Falman is straightforward, always listening to the conversations in the office even if he doesn’t appear to be, and only adding his commentary when he feels like he has something worthwhile to contribute. Breda takes the cards and returns to his desk.   
  
Jean heaves a heavy sigh to indicate his displeasure with the idea of actually having to get up. But he did ask for the cards. He gets to his feet and picks up the deck, then grabs Breda’s arm and starts to drag him toward the two couches near the office’s closed door.

Mustang’s laying on one of those couches, staring up at the ceiling. He drifts in and out of sleep, but is at least coherent enough to mumble an answer if anyone asks him a question.  

Havoc sits down on the couch across from him and starts shuffling cards, once he’s thrown the empty box onto the low table in front of him. As predicted, Mustang perks up immediately, sitting up and leaning forward. Havoc grins, and Breda watches both of them and rolls his eyes. 

“You can’t play a good game of poker with just two people,” he points out.    
  
“But you’re playing too,” Havoc says. It isn’t phrased as a question. Breda sighs, and stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, but he doesn’t disagree. Besides, it’s always interesting playing with The Colonel, who can read other people’s tells with uncanny accuracy but can rarely hide his own feelings. It’s genuinely difficult to call his bluffs, because he’s so invested that it  _ never  _ looks like he’s bluffing.

“Fuery,” Breda calls. “Come over here, we need another player.”

The young sergeant slides his headphones down around his neck, and looks toward Colonel Mustang. “Don’t you want me monitoring the civilian channels? Just in case anything leaks that shouldn’t?”

“What’re you going to do about it even if it does?” Jean asks. 

Roy glances at Havoc and Breda, then at Fuery. “You can hear the radio from over here, can’t you?”

“I… suppose. Yes.”

“Good. Come play some cards, then.”   
  
Fuery still looks hesitant, but he sets his headphones down and heads over to the couches. It’s not like Mustang’s invitation constitutes a direct order, but really, what else is there to do? They’ve been sitting in the office for hours already, working less and less as time continues to drag on.    
  
Mustang slides over to make room for Fuery and Breda sits down next to Havoc. “You in, Falman?” he calls toward the other man’s desk. 

The answer is an unsurprising no. Havoc heaves a deep sigh, mourning for his coworker’s lost sense of fun.

“What about Lieutenant Hawkeye?” Fuery asks innocently, as Havoc begins dealing cards.    
  
Havoc just shrugs, the look on his face imploring Fuery to give up. Hawkeye is even more of a workaholic than Falman, and she’s still holed up in Colonel Mustang’s private office, presumably buried in paperwork. 

Fuery, of course, is much more persistent than anyone believes when they first look at him. He gets up from the couch and walks over to the half-open door to Mustang’s office.    
  
“Lieutenant?” he asks softly. 

Riza Hawkeye is standing behind Roy’s desk, with the contents of his inbox dumped in front of her. If she’s irritated by doing The Colonel’s work while he’s napping on the couch, she shows no indication of it.

“Come play cards with us,” Fuery coaxes. “Our shift ended hours ago.”

The papers scattered in front of Hawkeye makes it look like no one has gotten anything done all day. But Fuery knows about work that never ends. His work orders are stacked deep enough that three people probably couldn’t finish them in a timely fashion. And sometimes, he stays late into the night to finish the repairs and maintenance required on the wide range of communications equipment East HQ needs to function. Not tonight, though. The team has decided to use this unexpected situation to relax together in a way they rarely do.

Hawkeye peeks out the open door of the office and smiles when she sees Mustang trading banter with Havoc. After a few seconds, she turns back to Fuery. “Sure. I can play cards for a little while.”

She hastily sweeps Mustang’s paperwork into some semblance of order, and follows Kain into the main office. He nods toward the couch where Mustang is sitting, not at all subtle about trying to get them together. But Hawkeye sits down on the couch next to Roy and watches as Fuery pulls a chair over to their little group.

In the awkward silence, the radios crackle and spit out coded status updates. The campus may still be compromised. Shelter in place.

Jean starts dealing cards, quickly spitting them out among their group of five.

“Come on, Falman,” Mustang calls out. “Don’t make me make it an order.”

Falman clears his throat, but then nods and makes his way over to the couches. He accepts the couple of couch pillows Breda hands to him and fashions them into a comfortable enough seat. Havoc tossed him his cards, and then began the discussion about stakes. Their usual habit of throwing 500 cens each into the pot seems pathetic when The Colonel is involved. Roy Mustang has money, and enough talent at poker to make things truly  _ fun _ . 

The chatter of Fuery’s radio is quickly drowned out by the teasing banter between Havoc and Breda, the calm stare-down between Falman and Mustang, and Kain’s squeals of delight whenever he won a hand. They’d all taken to keeping track of their winnings on little scraps of paper and battered index cards: IOUs to be held over one another’s heads until the next game. To Breda’s knowledge, no one had ever actually paid out what they owed. Might be different this time though, with Mustang involved.    
  
So far The Colonel was kicking the crap out of all of them. Havoc swore up and down that he knew Mustang’s tells, but if he did he wasn’t making any use of that information. Falman had an amazing poker face, while Fuery couldn’t bluff worth a damn and was the first to bow out of the game. “It’s getting too intense,” he says, watching Havoc swat at Hawkeye’s hand as she reaches toward the center of the small table to claim the pot. Mustang smiles lazily in his adjutant’s direction, and Breda’s sharp gaze tracks Fuery’s walk across the office to the precious radios.    
  
“They say we can go home yet?” he calls across the room. 

Fuery shakes his head. 

Eventually, the card game morphs into a slow state of relaxation, where Roy drapes his arm over Riza’s shoulder and, surprisingly, she neither pushes him off nor lectures him about the list of rules they are on or over the edge of breaking. Falman smiles knowingly and then gathers up the cards and begins constructing a tower. 

They have now been sheltering for seven hours, and Havoc is out of his mind. “Please, Hawkeye,” he whines, as he fondles the still unlit cigarette he’s just pulled out of his pack. 

Riza shakes her head, and continues to do so even after Jean offers her all of the money Fuery now owes him. Defeated, he returns to his own desk and jumps up to sit on it, swinging his legs back and forth and then laying down, head on Breda’s desk and arms spread out to cover both of their workspaces. He lets out a dramatic sigh every now and then, venting his displeasure.    
  
Breda rummages around in Mustang’s office until he finds most of this week’s newspapers, and he settles in on the couch to read. 

A restless silence fills the room. Fuery’s radios once again provide the only true noise.    
  
Roy plays with Riza’s hair, which he’s convinced her to take out of its usual pinned up style. She settles against his body and hums softly.    
  
Another hour passes.    
  
And then, so suddenly that most of them don’t even hear it the first time, the announcement comes through.    
  
“All clear!” Fuery calls as he pulls off his headphone.    
  
All clear. Seven hours and forty-two minutes of waiting, finished just as abruptly as it started.

The whole team gathers their gear and spills out with the throngs of other men and women exiting East HQ in a steady stream. 

Outside, the skies are midnight dark and shot through with the weak light of stars drowned out by the city. 

They are all starving. Havoc leads them to a seedy dive of a diner that’s open all hours, smoking at least three cigarettes on the way. 

And they sit around a table and eat pancakes and eggs and drink dark coffee, smiling and enjoying each other’s company.   
  
“Shelter in place,” Havoc spits, around a mouthful of hash browns. “I hope  _ that  _ never happens again."

“I dunno,” Colonel Mustang says, a moment later. “I don’t think it was that bad.”


End file.
